


This feeling called realization

by mariuspondmercy



Series: Les Amis Are Sick [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-30
Updated: 2016-05-30
Packaged: 2018-07-11 05:54:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7031767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mariuspondmercy/pseuds/mariuspondmercy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Somehow, everyone got sick. And somehow, Grantaire is better off than the rest, so why not take care of Enjolras?</p>
            </blockquote>





	This feeling called realization

There must have been something in the water or the air or the bread. It wasn’t just a coincidence that all of them were sick.

"But of course we’re all having the flu!" Combeferre insisted. "We meet up nearly every day, some of us share drinks or food. We all eat peanuts out of the same bowl! Germs travel fast. Faster than rumours."

Everyone except for Cosette had fallen sick, which was quite a surprise.

"You would expect her to get sick faster than any of us, judging by the way Marius always shoves his tongue down her throat,“ Éponine muttered as she observed the couple from her spot on the sofa.

They had declared Cosette’s and Marius’ flat as their sick bay, since it was the biggest, and Cosette the only healthy person of the group. Even little Gavroche was sick!

"It’s because none of you eats fruit and vegetables,“ Cosette liked to point out whenever someone complained about being sick.

Éponine made a noise close to a growl which caused Grantaire next to her to chuckle and pull her closer.

"Oh ‘Ponine. One day you’ll find your Marius, too."

"I’ve already found him, he’s just not interested."

"I know that too well." He sighed and dropped a kiss on his friend’s hair, letting his gaze wander over to the pile of blankets with blond curls sticking out underneath them.

She sighed, too, and scooted a little closer before she started dozing off half on top of her friend.

They were all tired, they were all coughing, they were all sick and cold and hot and cranky. Grantaire wondered how Cosette managed to put up with a bunch of sick revolutionists. Sometimes she was too good for the world.

“R, do you want more tea? I’m making some for Marius and Jehan anyway, so it wouldn’t be a problem. Or maybe hot whiskey or mulled wine? I’m making that for Bahorel.”

"Hot whiskey actually sounds great,“ he smiled up at her, "thank you for all of this. Thanks for buying blankets and pillows and mattresses."

"It’s a pleasure to have you all here. Sometimes." She grinned and dropped a kiss on top of his head. "Marius is over the moon. Like a big sleep-over. So hot whiskey it is?"

"Yeah. You need a hand?"

"No, thank you. Jehan is helping me already. And I wouldn’t want to accidentally wake up Éponine. I’m glad she’s sleeping. She stayed up way too long yesterday night because of Gavroche."

"Did she? I didn’t know that. Was he coughing?"

"A lot," Cosette sighed, "but he’s still better off than Enjolras or Bossuet. They’re both nearly delirious."

Grantaire hummed in response, his eyes flickering over to Enjolras once again.

"If you want to, I could assign you as Enjolras’ caretaker. You’re relatively healthy. And he’s too sick to fight with you. Who knows, maybe he’ll come around." Cosette smiled at her friend and squeezed his hand before heading off into the kitchen.

Grantaire leaned back, carefully drawing Éponine with him. He let his eyes wander over his sick friends. Courfeyrac was sleeping in his pillow fort, snoring slightly, while Combeferre was propped up against the armchair, having fallen asleep while reading. Next to Éponine, Gavroche slept curled up in one of Grantaire’s sweaters. His hand was clutched into Éponine’s blanket, his blond curls clung to his sweaty forehead. Poor boy.

Jehan and Marius were in the kitchen, Bahorel was talking quietly to Joly, who had both Musichetta and Bossuet’s heads in his lap, running his fingers through Musichetta’s hair absentmindedly.

But whatever he did, his eyes always ended up on Enjolras. Not much was seen of him, only the top of his head, his curls wild and unruly.

It was too much and just not enough. Grantaire loved looking at him while he was sleeping, loved the way the younger man sometimes scrunched up his nose. He looked a little pathetic, wrapped in his red blanket and curled up on the mattress Cosette had placed on the floor. Even his cough sounded pathetic. It was adorable and never failed to make Grantaire smile. Enjolras’ voice was nearly gone but Marius had given his friend a sufficient amount of paper so he could give his snarky comments that way.

Grantaire carefully got up from the sofa, making sure not to wake Éponine, before he headed into the kitchen.

On his way, however, he stopped in front of Enjolras, his hand hoovering inches above the blond’s head, ready to touch his curls. After a moment of hesitation, Grantaire withdrew his hand and shoved it into the pocket of his jumper. It wasn’t right to touch him while he slept. And you never knew, maybe he would wake up. Éponine didn’t like being touched when woken up. One time, she had broken Grantaire’s ring finger because he had lightly touched her shoulder to wake her. Never again.

Marius, Cosette and Jehan were sitting around the table, sipping tea and waiting for the whiskey to be properly heated when Grantaire entered. He sat down next to Jehan, offering them a soft smile.

"How are you holding up?" Marius asked, his voice barely audible. It had been better yesterday but apparently he’s had a relapse and lost his voice again.

"I’m fine. Feverish, dizzy, but at least I’m not coughing anymore. How about you two?"

"Cosette’s tea does wonders,“ Jehan smiled, "my throat doesn’t hurt anymore and my cough is no longer dry and painful."

"Same for me,“ Marius nodded, "though I lost my voice again."

"Maybe you should lay down again for a bit,“ Cosette suggested and pressed a soft kiss to her fiancé’s cheek.

She shooed Marius off, made sure that he was properly tucked in next to Courfeyrac, and came back into the kitchen.

“The whiskey is ready now. Jehan, do you want to bring Bahorel his mug?” Cosette handed him the cup and didn’t even wait for his reaction. He obeyed though, giving Cosette the wished opportunity to talk to Grantaire.

“So”, she grinned as she flopped down opposite of him, “about Enjolras.”

Grantaire groaned. “Cosette, please. I’m not having this conversation again. I’ve had it a thousand times with Éponine and it usually ends with both of us getting drunk.”

“Unrequited love unites, I suppose”, she smiled lightly, “I don’t blame her. How could I? There’s nothing she can do, nothing Marius or I could do. But there’s something you can do, and you know that. I told you: talk to him. Without the cynical comments. He’s sick, he can’t argue back. Just... try it.”

“You’re giving me the same prep-talk Éponine always gives me. I know you’re not really related but wow, I can see you’re related!”

Cosette laughed and squeezed his hand. “We just know that love is worth fighting for. Both in our own ways. You know what? Dinner will be ready in half an hour. Enjolras hasn’t eaten anything today. Why don’t you wake him and ask him if he would like some soup?” 

“I can’t promise to be cynical-less but I’ll try.” 

The blonde laughed. “Well, it’s part of your personality and why we love you. How’s your whiskey?” 

“’Tasty, hot, and really good for my throat and my confidence alike.” 

“Great! Because you have a job to do. Off you pop. Oh and can you make sure Courfeyrac didn’t steal Marius’ blanket, please? Would you also throw a blanket over Combeferre? Could you make sure that Éponine sleeps comfortably?” 

“Will do.” He smiled at her, actually a little excited about his future talk with Enjolras. 

Grantaire finished his drink, thanked Cosette with a kiss on the cheek and made his way back into the living room. 

Cosette had been right; Courfeyrac really had stolen Marius’ duvet, leaving the poor boy curled up next to his best friend, his shirt ridden up to reveal a stretch of skin. Oh, how much Éponine would love this sight. The young woman was asleep though, her right arm hanging off the sofa, her little brother sleeping on top of her stomach. Smiling to himself, Grantaire pulled the blanket a little higher over Gavroche to cover his little body completely.

After a moment of hesitation, Grantaire sat down in front of Enjolras’ mattress and observed him for some time until he softly called out his name.

 “Enjolras? Hey there.” He smiled at the blond as he managed to open his eyes and peek out from under his pile of blankets.

 “No,” the other man pouted. “No. The outside world is cold.” His voice was hoarse and raspy from not using it for the past day and a half.

 Grantaire chuckled. Oh, Enjolras looked simply marvellous. Especially with his curls so wild and his eyes still glazed from sleep.

 “I know. Trust me, I know. How about I get you a hot water bottle and some tea? Do you want dinner? Cosette made soup and it’ll be ready soon. How’s your throat?”

 “So many questions.” Enjolras yawned and sat up, stretched and ran his hand over his face before he blinked a few times at Grantaire.

 This was it. He was awake and now he would shut him out again.

 “I’m feeling much better,” Enjolras smiled at him. “Thank you for asking. How are you doing yourself? Are you still cold? You said yesterday that whatever you did, you’re always cold.”

 “I... you remember that?” Grantaire had to refrain from gaping at him with an open mouth.

 “Of course I remember.” Still a little sleepy, Enjolras rubbed his eyes and ran his hand through his unruly curls. “I remember everything you say.”

 “Hardly believe that.”

 “Because you’re incapable of believing, R. So tell me, are you still cold?”

 “Uhm...” Grantaire shook his head, mainly to clear his mind and sort his thoughts. Apparently, Enjolras had understood his gesture as he was waiting patiently for his reply, eyes fixed on Grantaire.

 “Yeah, a little. I had a hot whiskey for my throat and it warmed me a bit.”

 “Why are you not wearing a sweater then?”

 “Gavroche is sleeping in it. He was shivering, so I gave it to him.”

 “Mhm.” Enjolras nodded and wrapped one of his blankets a little tighter around himself while holding a second one out to Grantaire, “Take it. Wouldn’t want you to stay sick now, would we?”

 “Not? That’s surprising. Would relieve you from telling me off during every meeting.”

 “Would also take the fun out of it.”

 “Wow, you really are pretty sick, hm?” Nonetheless, a small smile crept upon Grantaire’s pale lips.

 “Didn’t you promise me food?”

 “Soon.” Grantaire wrapped Enjolras’ blanket around himself, throwing his companion a thankful smile.

 “Alright.” Enjolras nodded, still clearly sleepy and worn out from the flu. He lay back down on the mattress, eyes fixed on Grantaire. “You know what I like when I’m sick? Though I’m not sick. I’m merely... fuck, I’m sick. Ferre got me sick. Can’t even think clearly. I tried to read the news this morning and my head started spinning.”

 “I could read them to you”, R offered.

 “If you wouldn’t mind...”

 “’Course I don’t.” Grantaire grabbed the newspaper from the table before settling down in front of Enjolras again.

He read the whole political section to Enjolras, even though his voice kept getting thinner and raspier the longer he went on. But it was still alright. As if Grantaire would ever stop reading. Not when he knew it pleased Enjolras.

After a while, he felt Enjolras’ sweaty and warm hand on his own and looked up in confusion.

“It’s alright, you can stop reading now,“ he smiled at Grantaire. “Thank you. I mean it. Thank you, Grantaire. For so much.”

He wasn’t quite sure what exactly Enjolras meant but his words managed to create this warmth in his body not unlike the warmth whiskey and wine usually gave him. Grantaire returned his smile, the warmth from within extending to the outside, mirrored – quite surprisingly – by Enjolras.

“A peculiar thing, isn’t it?” Enjolras asked in a low voice. “This feeling called realization.”

Grantaire didn’t even feel his heart beat faster, didn’t feel his cheeks flush or his smile grow wider, didn’t feel Jehan’s eyes lingering on him or heard the way Éponine had gasped.

He only felt Enjolras’ warm and clammy hand squeeze his likewise warm and clammy hand, only saw the way his Apollo smiled at him, the shimmer in his blue eyes, only felt the genuine truth of his touch and smile.


End file.
